


Rough Day

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Series: Queen One-Shots [24]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 90's Roger, F/M, I might do a soft fucking one shot at some point to continue this, Just some softness with a sensual edge, a whole daddy, just imagine roger from the 90's for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 00:36:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18712906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: Roger tries to cheer you up after a rough day... And he's well aware you hate having your feet touched.





	Rough Day

Your head hit the cushion with an audible ‘ooof,’ earning a concerned glance from Roger.   
He peered up over the rims of his glasses, raising his eyebrows. “Rough day?”  
Understatement of the century. After spending the whole day on your feet, all you really wanted was to cosy up to him for the night. Perhaps even sink a bottle of wine. “Just a bit.”  
Roger smirked, trailing his fingers down your shins, inching closer to your swollen ankles. “Anything I can do to help?”  
“You’re getting awfully close to my-”  
FEET.  
His touch ghosting over your weary soles caused you to jolt upright, launching yourself on to his lap. He knew you hated it. The smug expression on his face only fuelled the mix of giddy annoyance you felt. There. Straddling his lap. The dull chatter of the television drowned out by your body against his. A soft, self-satisfied chuckle vibrated through his chest and into yours.   
“I thought I told you I didn’t like that?” you asked, curling your fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.  
“I know,” he began, pouting. “I just do it to see that smile of your’s.”  
You rolled your eyes, feeling that familiar burn seep its way up from your neck. Desperate to resist, you bowed your head, hoping he couldn’t see it. That smile he loved.   
It drew another small laugh from him as he moved closer. His lips caressed your forehead in a fleeting moment. The calloused pads of his fingers gently trailed down your cheeks.   
It felt like an eternity. You focused on the thin wisps of hair peeking out from his shirt collar, fixating on the way his chest moved. The way he breathed deeply, drinking you in, kissing, and kissing, and kissing. All the way down, but never reaching your mouth.  
When he spoke, his breath fell hot against your skin. Soft and kind, yet dripping with innuendo: “If I can’t rub those poor tootsies of your’s, what do you suppose we do to cheer you up?”  
“I have a few suggestions,” you grinned, leaning in. But then you had an afterthought. You pulled back into his lap again. Feigning exhaustion, you stretched out your arms, whining through a yawn. “You have to do all the work though.”  
“I swear you want me to put my back out,” he warned, getting to his feet, and scooping you up with him. “I’m not getting any younger.”


End file.
